Eugenie Grandet by Honore de Balzac

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"Bless me! then, am I to invest enough to give you a few thousandfrancs a year?"

"That's not much to begin with. Hush! I don't want any one to know Iam going to play that game. You can make the investment by the end ofthe month. Say nothing to the Cruchots; that'll annoy them. If you arereally going to Paris, we will see if there is anything to be done formy poor nephew."

"Well, it's all settled. I'll start to-morrow by the mail-post," saiddes Grassins aloud, "and I will come and take your last directions at--what hour will suit you?"

"Five o'clock, just before dinner," said Grandet, rubbing his hands.

The two parties stayed on for a short time. Des Grassins said, after apause, striking Grandet on the shoulder,--

"It is a good thing to have a relation like him."

"Yes, yes; without making a show," said Grandet, "I am a g-goodrelation. I loved my brother, and I will prove it, unless itc-c-costs--"

"We must leave you, Grandet," said the banker, interrupting himfortunately before he got to the end of his sentence. "If I hurry mydeparture, I must attend to some matters at once."

"Very good, very good! I myself--in c-consequence of what I t-told you--I must retire to my own room and 'd-d-deliberate,' as PresidentCruchot says."

"Plague take him! I am no longer Monsieur de Bonfons," thought themagistrate ruefully, his face assuming the expression of a judge boredby an argument.

The heads of the two factions walked off together. Neither gave anyfurther thought to the treachery Grandet had been guilty of in themorning against the whole wine-growing community; each tried to fathomwhat the other was thinking about the real intentions of the wily oldman in this new affair, but in vain.

"Will you go with us to Madame Dorsonval's?" said des Grassins to thenotary.

"We will go there later," answered the president. "I have promised tosay good-evening to Mademoiselle de Gribeaucourt, and we will go therefirst, if my uncle is willing."

"Farewell for the present!" said Madame des Grassins.

When the Cruchots were a few steps off, Adolphe remarked to hisfather,--

"Are not they fuming, hein?"

"Hold your tongue, my son!" said his mother; "they might hear you.Besides, what you say is not in good taste,--law-school language."

"Well, uncle," cried the president when he saw the des Grassinsdisappearing, "I began by being de Bonfons, and I have ended asnothing but Cruchot."

"I saw that that annoyed you; but the wind has set fair for the desGrassins. What a fool you are, with all your cleverness! Let them sailoff on Grandet's 'We'll see about it,' and keep yourself quiet, youngman. Eugenie will none the less be your wife."

In a few moments the news of Grandet's magnanimous resolve wasdisseminated in three houses at the same moment, and the whole townbegan to talk of his fraternal devotion. Every one forgave Grandet forthe sale made in defiance of the good faith pledged to the community;they admired his sense of honor, and began to laud a generosity ofwhich they had never thought him capable. It is part of the Frenchnature to grow enthusiastic, or angry, or fervent about some meteor ofthe moment. Can it be that collective beings, nationalities, peoples,are devoid of memory?

When Pere Grandet had shut the door he called Nanon.

"Don't let the dog loose, and don't go to bed; we have work to dotogether. At eleven o'clock Cornoiller will be at the door with thechariot from Froidfond. Listen for him and prevent his knocking; tellhim to come in softly. Police regulations don't allow nocturnalracket. Besides, the whole neighborhood need not know that I amstarting on a journey."

So saying, Grandet returned to his private room, where Nanon heard himmoving about, rummaging, and walking to and fro, though with muchprecaution, for he evidently did not wish to wake his wife anddaughter, and above all not to rouse the attention of his nephew, whomhe had begun to anathematize when he saw a thread of light under hisdoor. About the middle of the night Eugenie, intent on her cousin,fancied she heard a cry like that of a dying person. It must beCharles, she thought; he was so pale, so full of despair when she hadseen him last,--could he have killed himself? She wrapped herselfquickly in a loose garment,--a sort of pelisse with a hood,--and wasabout to leave the room when a bright light coming through the chinksof her door made her think of fire. But she recovered herself as sheheard Nanon's heavy steps and gruff voice mingling with the snortingof several horses.

"Can my father be carrying off my cousin?" she said to herself,opening her door with great precaution lest it should creak, and yetenough to let her see into the corridor.

Suddenly her eye encountered that of her father; and his glance, vagueand unnoticing as it was, terrified her. The goodman and Nanon wereyoked together by a stout stick, each end of which rested on theirshoulders; a stout rope was passed over it, on which was slung a smallbarrel or keg like those Pere Grandet still made in his bakehouse asan amusement for his leisure hours.

"Holy Virgin, how heavy it is!" said the voice of Nanon.

"What a pity that it is only copper sous!" answered Grandet. "Takecare you don't knock over the candlestick."

The scene was lighted by a single candle placed between two rails ofthe staircase.

"Will you hold your tongue, Nanon! You are to tell my wife I have goneinto the country. I shall be back to dinner. Drive fast, Cornoiller; Imust get to Angers before nine o'clock."

The carriage drove off. Nanon bolted the great door, let loose thedog, and went off to bed with a bruised shoulder, no one in theneighborhood suspecting either the departure of Grandet or the objectof his journey. The precautions of the old miser and his reticencewere never relaxed. No one had ever seen a penny in that house, filledas it was with gold. Hearing in the morning, through the gossip of theport, that exchange on gold had doubled in price in consequence ofcertain military preparations undertaken at Nantes, and thatspeculators had arrived at Angers to buy coin, the old wine-grower, bythe simple process of borrowing horses from his farmers, seized thechance of selling his gold and of bringing back in the form oftreasury notes the sum he intended to put into the Funds, havingswelled it considerably by the exchange.

VIII

"My father has gone," thought Eugenie, who heard all that took placefrom the head of the stairs. Silence was restored in the house, andthe distant rumbling of the carriage, ceasing by degrees, no longerechoed through the sleeping town. At this moment Eugenie heard in herheart, before the sound caught her ears, a cry which pierced thepartitions and came from her cousin's chamber. A line of light, thinas the blade of a sabre, shone through a chink in the door and fellhorizontally on the balusters of the rotten staircase.

"He suffers!" she said, springing up the stairs. A second moan broughther to the landing near his room. The door was ajar, she pushed itopen. Charles was sleeping; his head hung over the side of the oldarmchair, and his hand, from which the pen had fallen, nearly touchedthe floor. The oppressed breathing caused by the strained posturesuddenly frightened Eugenie, who entered the room hastily.

"He must be very tired," she said to herself, glancing at a dozenletters lying sealed upon the table. She read their addresses: "ToMessrs. Farry, Breilmann, & Co., carriage-makers"; "To MonsieurBuisson, tailor," etc.

"He has been settling all his affairs, so as to leave France at once,"she thought. Her eyes fell upon two open letters. The words, "My dearAnnette," at the head of one of them, blinded her for a moment. Herheart beat fast, her feet were nailed to the floor.

"His dear Annette! He loves! he is loved! No hope! What does he say toher?"

These thoughts rushed through her head and heart. She saw the wordseverywhere, even on the bricks of the floor, in letters of fire.

"Resign him already? No, no! I will not read the letter. I ought to goaway--What if I do read it?"

She looked at Charles, then she gently took his head and placed itagainst the back of the chair; he let her do so, like a child which,though asleep, knows its mother's touch and receives, without awaking,her kisses and watchful care. Like a mother Eugenie raised thedrooping hand, and like a mother she gently kissed the chestnut hair--"Dear Annette!" a demon shrieked the words in her ear.

"I am doing wrong; but I must read it, that letter," she said. Sheturned away her head, for her noble sense of honor reproached her. Forthe first time in her life good and evil struggled together in herheart. Up to that moment she had never had to blush for any action.Passion and curiosity triumphed. As she read each sentence her heartswelled more and more, and the keen glow which filled her being as shedid so, only made the joys of first love still more precious.

My dear Annette,--Nothing could ever have separated us but the great misfortune which has now overwhelmed me, and which no human foresight could have prevented. My father has killed himself; his fortune and mine are irretrievably lost. I am orphaned at an age when, through the nature of my education, I am still a child; and yet I must lift myself as a man out of the abyss into which I am plunged. I have just spent half the night in facing my position. If I wish to leave France an honest man,--and there is no doubt of that,--I have not a hundred francs of my own with which to try my fate in the Indies or in America. Yes, my poor Anna, I must seek my fortune in those deadly climates. Under those skies, they tell me, I am sure to make it. As for remaining in Paris, I cannot do so. Neither my nature nor my face are made to bear the affronts, the neglect, the disdain shown to a ruined man, the son of a bankrupt! Good God! think of owing two millions! I should be killed in a duel the first week; therefore I shall not return there. Your love--the most tender and devoted love which ever ennobled the heart of man--cannot draw me back. Alas! my beloved, I have no money with which to go to you, to give and receive a last kiss from which I might derive some strength for my forlorn enterprise.

"Poor Charles! I did well to read the letter. I have gold; I will giveit to him," thought Eugenie.

She wiped her eyes, and went on reading.

I have never thought of the miseries of poverty. If I have the hundred louis required for the mere costs of the journey, I have not a sou for an outfit. But no, I have not the hundred louis, not even one louis. I don't know that anything will be left after I have paid my debts in Paris. If I have nothing, I shall go quietly to Nantes and ship as a common sailor; and I will begin in the new world like other men who have started young without a sou and brought back the wealth of the Indies. During this long day I have faced my future coolly. It seems more horrible for me than for another, because I have been so petted by a mother who adored me, so indulged by the kindest of fathers, so blessed by meeting, on my entrance into life, with the love of an Anna! The flowers of life are all I have ever known. Such happiness could not last. Nevertheless, my dear Annette, I feel more courage than a careless young man is supposed to feel,--above all a young man used to the caressing ways of the dearest woman in all Paris, cradled in family joys, on whom all things smiled in his home, whose wishes were a law to his father--oh, my father! Annette, he is dead!

Well, I have thought over my position, and yours as well. I have grown old in twenty-four hours. Dear Anna, if in order to keep me with you in Paris you were to sacrifice your luxury, your dress, your opera-box, we should even then not have enough for the expenses of my extravagant ways of living. Besides, I would never accept such sacrifices. No, we must part now and forever--

"He gives her up! Blessed Virgin! What happiness!"

Eugenie quivered with joy. Charles made a movement, and a chill ofterror ran through her. Fortunately, he did not wake, and she resumedher reading.

When shall I return? I do not know. The climate of the West Indies ages a European, so they say; especially a European who works hard. Let us think what may happen ten years hence. In ten years your daughter will be eighteen; she will be your companion, your spy. To you society will be cruel, and your daughter perhaps more cruel still. We have seen cases of the harsh social judgment and ingratitude of daughters; let us take warning by them. Keep in the depths of your soul, as I shall in mine, the memory of four years of happiness, and be faithful, if you can, to the memory of your poor friend. I cannot exact such faithfulness, because, do you see, dear Annette, I must conform to the exigencies of my new life; I must take a commonplace view of them and do the best I can. Therefore I must think of marriage, which becomes one of the necessities of my future existence; and I will admit to you that I have found, here in Saumur, in my uncle's house, a cousin whose face, manners, mind, and heart would please you, and who, besides, seems to me--

"He must have been very weary to have ceased writing to her," thoughtEugenie, as she gazed at the letter which stopped abruptly in themiddle of the last sentence.

Already she defended him. How was it possible that an innocent girlshould perceive the cold-heartedness evinced by this letter? To younggirls religiously brought up, whose minds are ignorant and pure, allis love from the moment they set their feet within the enchantedregions of that passion. They walk there bathed in a celestial lightshed from their own souls, which reflects its rays upon their lover;they color all with the flame of their own emotion and attribute tohim their highest thoughts. A woman's errors come almost always fromher belief in good or her confidence in truth. In Eugenie's simpleheart the words, "My dear Annette, my loved one," echoed like thesweetest language of love; they caressed her soul as, in childhood,the divine notes of the /Venite adoremus/, repeated by the organ,caressed her ear. Moreover, the tears which still lingered on theyoung man's lashes gave signs of that nobility of heart by which younggirls are rightly won. How could she know that Charles, though heloved his father and mourned him truly, was moved far more by paternalgoodness than by the goodness of his own heart? Monsieur and MadameGuillaume Grandet, by gratifying every fancy of their son, andlavishing upon him the pleasures of a large fortune, had kept him frommaking the horrible calculations of which so many sons in Paris becomemore or less guilty when, face to face with the enjoyments of theworld, they form desires and conceive schemes which they see withbitterness must be put off or laid aside during the lifetime of theirparents. The liberality of the father in this instance had shed intothe heart of the son a real love, in which there was no afterthoughtof self-interest.

Nevertheless, Charles was a true child of Paris, taught by the customsof society and by Annette herself to calculate everything; already anold man under the mask of youth. He had gone through the frightfuleducation of social life, of that world where in one evening morecrimes are committed in thought and speech than justice ever punishesat the assizes; where jests and clever sayings assassinate the noblestideas; where no one is counted strong unless his mind sees clear: andto see clear in that world is to believe in nothing, neither infeelings, nor in men, nor even in events,--for events are falsified.There, to "see clear" we must weigh a friend's purse daily, learn howto keep ourselves adroitly on the top of the wave, cautiously admirenothing, neither works of art nor glorious actions, and remember thatself-interest is the mainspring of all things here below. Aftercommitting many follies, the great lady--the beautiful Annette--compelled Charles to think seriously; with her perfumed hand among hiscurls, she talked to him of his future position; as she rearranged hislocks, she taught him lessons of worldly prudence; she made himeffeminate and materialized him,--a double corruption, but a delicateand elegant corruption, in the best taste.

"You are very foolish, Charles," she would say to him. "I shall have agreat deal of trouble in teaching you to understand the world. Youbehaved extremely ill to Monsieur des Lupeaulx. I know very well he isnot an honorable man; but wait till he is no longer in power, then youmay despise him as much as you like. Do you know what Madame Campanused to tell us?--'My dears, as long as a man is a minister, adorehim; when he falls, help to drag him in the gutter. Powerful, he is asort of god; fallen, he is lower than Marat in the sewer, because heis living, and Marat is dead. Life is a series of combinations, andyou must study them and understand them if you want to keep yourselvesalways in good position.'"

Charles was too much a man of the world, his parents had made him toohappy, he had received too much adulation in society, to be possessedof noble sentiments. The grain of gold dropped by his mother into hisheart was beaten thin in the smithy of Parisian society; he had spreadit superficially, and it was worn away by the friction of life.Charles was only twenty-one years old. At that age the freshness ofyouth seems inseparable from candor and sincerity of soul. The voice,the glance, the face itself, seem in harmony with the feelings; andthus it happens that the sternest judge, the most sceptical lawyer,the least complying of usurers, always hesitate to admit decrepitudeof heart or the corruption of worldly calculation while the eyes arestill bathed in purity and no wrinkles seam the brow. Charles, so far,had had no occasion to apply the maxims of Parisian morality; up tothis time he was still endowed with the beauty of inexperience. Andyet, unknown to himself, he had been inoculated with selfishness. Thegerms of Parisian political economy, latent in his heart, wouldassuredly burst forth, sooner or later, whenever the carelessspectator became an actor in the drama of real life.

Nearly all young girls succumb to the tender promises such an outwardappearance seems to offer: even if Eugenie had been as prudent andobserving as provincial girls are often found to be, she was notlikely to distrust her cousin when his manners, words, and actionswere still in unison with the aspirations of a youthful heart. A merechance--a fatal chance--threw in her way the last effusions of realfeeling which stirred the young man's soul; she heard as it were thelast breathings of his conscience. She laid down the letter--to her sofull of love--and began smilingly to watch her sleeping cousin; thefresh illusions of life were still, for her at least, upon his face;she vowed to herself to love him always. Then she cast her eyes on theother letter, without attaching much importance to this secondindiscretion; and though she read it, it was only to obtain new proofsof the noble qualities which, like all women, she attributed to theman her heart had chosen.

My dear Alphonse,--When you receive this letter I shall be without friends; but let me assure you that while I doubt the friendship of the world, I have never doubted yours. I beg you therefore to settle all my affairs, and I trust to you to get as much as you can out of my possessions. By this time you know my situation. I have nothing left, and I intend to go at once to the Indies. I have just written to all the people to whom I think I owe money, and you will find enclosed a list of their names, as correct as I can make it from memory. My books, my furniture, my pictures, my horses, etc., ought, I think, to pay my debts. I do not wish to keep anything, except, perhaps, a few baubles which might serve as the beginning of an outfit for my enterprise. My dear Alphonse, I will send you a proper power of attorney under which you can make these sales. Send me all my weapons. Keep Briton for yourself; nobody would pay the value of that noble beast, and I would rather give him to you--like a mourning-ring bequeathed by a dying man to his executor. Farry, Breilmann, & Co. built me a very comfortable travelling-carriage, which they have not yet delivered; persuade them to keep it and not ask for any payment on it. If they refuse, do what you can in the matter, and avoid everything that might seem dishonorable in me under my present circumstances. I owe the British Islander six louis, which I lost at cards; don't fail to pay him--

"Dear cousin!" whispered Eugenie, throwing down the letter and runningsoftly back to her room, carrying one of the lighted candles. A thrillof pleasure passed over her as she opened the drawer of an old oakcabinet, a fine specimen of the period called the Renaissance, onwhich could still be seen, partly effaced, the famous royalsalamander. She took from the drawer a large purse of red velvet withgold tassels, edged with a tarnished fringe of gold wire,--a relicinherited from her grandmother. She weighed it proudly in her hand,and began with delight to count over the forgotten items of her littlehoard. First she took out twenty /portugaises/, still new, struck inthe reign of John V., 1725, worth by exchange, as her father told her,five /lisbonnines/, or a hundred and sixty-eight francs, sixty-fourcentimes each; their conventional value, however, was a hundred andeighty francs apiece, on account of the rarity and beauty of thecoins, which shone like little suns. Item, five /genovines/, or fivehundred-franc pieces of Genoa; another very rare coin worth eighty-seven francs on exchange, but a hundred francs to collectors. Thesehad formerly belonged to old Monsieur de la Bertelliere. Item, threegold /quadruples/, Spanish, of Philip V., struck in 1729, given to herone by one by Madame Gentillet, who never failed to say, using thesame words, when she made the gift, "This dear little canary, thislittle yellow-boy, is worth ninety-eight francs! Keep it, my prettyone, it will be the flower of your treasure." Item (that which herfather valued most of all, the gold of these coins being twenty-threecarats and a fraction), a hundred Dutch ducats, made in the year 1756,and worth thirteen francs apiece. Item, a great curiosity, a speciesof medal precious to the soul of misers,--three rupees with the signof the Scales, and five rupees with the sign of the Virgin, all inpure gold of twenty-four carats; the magnificent money of the GreatMogul, each of which was worth by mere weight thirty-seven francs,forty centimes, but at least fifty francs to those connoisseurs wholove to handle gold. Item, the napoleon of forty francs received theday before, which she had forgotten to put away in the velvet purse.This treasure was all in virgin coins, true works of art, whichGrandet from time to time inquired after and asked to see, pointingout to his daughter their intrinsic merits,--such as the beauty of themilled edge, the clearness of the flat surface, the richness of thelettering, whose angles were not yet rubbed off.

Eugenie gave no thought to these rarities, nor to her father's maniafor them, nor to the danger she incurred in depriving herself of atreasure so dear to him; no, she thought only of her cousin, and soonmade out, after a few mistakes of calculation, that she possessedabout five thousand eight hundred francs in actual value, which mightbe sold for their additional value to collectors for nearly sixthousand. She looked at her wealth and clapped her hands like a happychild forced to spend its overflowing joy in artless movements of thebody. Father and daughter had each counted up their fortune thisnight,--he, to sell his gold; Eugenie to fling hers into the ocean ofaffection. She put the pieces back into the old purse, took it in herhand, and ran upstairs without hesitation. The secret misery of hercousin made her forget the hour and conventional propriety; she wasstrong in her conscience, in her devotion, in her happiness.

As she stood upon the threshold of the door, holding the candle in onehand and the purse in the other, Charles woke, caught sight of her,and remained speechless with surprise. Eugenie came forward, put thecandle on the table, and said in a quivering voice:

"My cousin, I must beg pardon for a wrong I have done you; but Godwill pardon me--if you--will help me to wipe it out."

"What is it?" asked Charles, rubbing his eyes.

"I have read those letters."

Charles colored.

"How did it happen?" she continued; "how came I here? Truly, I do notknow. I am tempted not to regret too much that I have read them; theyhave made me know your heart, your soul, and--"

"And what?" asked Charles.

"Your plans, your need of a sum--"

"My dear cousin--"

"Hush, hush! my cousin, not so loud; we must not wake others. See,"she said, opening her purse, "here are the savings of a poor girl whowants nothing. Charles, accept them! This morning I was ignorant ofthe value of money; you have taught it to me. It is but a means, afterall. A cousin is almost a brother; you can surely borrow the purse ofyour sister."

Eugenie, as much a woman as a young girl, never dreamed of refusal;but her cousin remained silent.

"Oh! you will not refuse?" cried Eugenie, the beatings of whose heartcould be heard in the deep silence.

Her cousin's hesitation mortified her; but the sore need of hisposition came clearer still to her mind, and she knelt down.

"I will never rise till you have taken that gold!" she said. "Mycousin, I implore you, answer me! let me know if you respect me, ifyou are generous, if--"

As he heard this cry of noble distress the young man's tears fell uponhis cousin's hands, which he had caught in his own to keep her fromkneeling. As the warm tears touched her, Eugenie sprang to the purseand poured its contents upon the table.

"Ah! yes, yes, you consent?" she said, weeping with joy. "Fearnothing, my cousin, you will be rich. This gold will bring youhappiness; some day you shall bring it back to me,--are we notpartners? I will obey all conditions. But you should not attach suchvalue to the gift."

Charles was at last able to express his feelings.

"Yes, Eugenie; my soul would be small indeed if I did not accept. Andyet,--gift for gift, confidence for confidence."

"What do you mean?" she said, frightened.

"Listen, dear cousin; I have here--" He interrupted himself to pointout a square box covered with an outer case of leather which was onthe drawers. "There," he continued, "is something as precious to me aslife itself. This box was a present from my mother. All day I havebeen thinking that if she could rise from her grave, she would herselfsell the gold which her love for me lavished on this dressing-case;but were I to do so, the act would seem to me a sacrilege." Eugeniepressed his hand as she heard these last words. "No," he added, aftera slight pause, during which a liquid glance of tenderness passedbetween them, "no, I will neither sell it nor risk its safety on myjourney. Dear Eugenie, you shall be its guardian. Never did friendcommit anything more sacred to another. Let me show it to you."

He went to the box, took it from its outer coverings, opened it, andshowed his delighted cousin a dressing-case where the rich workmanshipgave to the gold ornaments a value far above their weight.

"What you admire there is nothing," he said, pushing a secret springwhich opened a hidden drawer. "Here is something which to me is worththe whole world." He drew out two portraits, masterpieces of MadameMirbel, richly set with pearls.

"Oh, how beautiful! Is it the lady to whom you wrote that--"

"No," he said, smiling; "this is my mother, and here is my father,your aunt and uncle. Eugenie, I beg you on my knees, keep my treasuresafely. If I die and your little fortune is lost, this gold and thesepearls will repay you. To you alone could I leave these portraits; youare worthy to keep them. But destroy them at last, so that they maypass into no other hands." Eugenie was silent. "Ah, yes, say yes! Youconsent?" he added with winning grace.

Hearing the very words she had just used to her cousin now addressedto herself, she turned upon him a look of love, her first look ofloving womanhood,--a glance in which there is nearly as much ofcoquetry as of inmost depth. He took her hand and kissed it.

"Angel of purity! between us two money is nothing, never can beanything. Feeling, sentiment, must be all henceforth."

"You are like your mother,--was her voice as soft as yours?"

"Oh! much softer--"

"Yes, for you," she said, dropping her eyelids. "Come, Charles, go tobed; I wish it; you must be tired. Good-night." She gently disengagedher hand from those of her cousin, who followed her to her room,lighting the way. When they were both upon the threshold,--

"Ah!" he said, "why am I ruined?"

"What matter?--my father is rich; I think so," she answered.

"Poor child!" said Charles, making a step into her room and leaninghis back against the wall, "if that were so, he would never have letmy father die; he would not let you live in this poor way; he wouldlive otherwise himself."

"But he owns Froidfond."

"What is Froidfond worth?"

"I don't know; but he has Noyers."

"Nothing but a poor farm!"

"He has vineyards and fields."

"Mere nothing," said Charles disdainfully. "If your father had onlytwenty-four thousand francs a year do you suppose you would live inthis cold, barren room?" he added, making a step in advance. "Ah!there you will keep my treasures," he said, glancing at the oldcabinet, as if to hide his thoughts.

"Go and sleep," she said, hindering his entrance into the disorderedroom.

Charles stepped back, and they bid each other good-night with a mutualsmile.

Both fell asleep in the same dream; and from that moment the youthbegan to wear roses with his mourning. The next day, before breakfast,Madame Grandet found her daughter in the garden in company withCharles. The young man was still sad, as became a poor fellow who,plunged in misfortune, measures the depths of the abyss into which hehas fallen, and sees the terrible burden of his whole future life.

"My father will not be home till dinner-time," said Eugenie,perceiving the anxious look on her mother's face.

It was easy to trace in the face and manners of the young girl and inthe singular sweetness of her voice a unison of thought between herand her cousin. Their souls had espoused each other, perhaps beforethey even felt the force of the feelings which bound them together.Charles spent the morning in the hall, and his sadness was respected.Each of the three women had occupations of her own. Grandet had leftall his affairs unattended to, and a number of persons came onbusiness,--the plumber, the mason, the slater, the carpenter, thediggers, the dressers, the farmers; some to drive a bargain aboutrepairs, others to pay their rent or to be paid themselves forservices. Madame Grandet and Eugenie were obliged to go and come andlisten to the interminable talk of all these workmen and country folk.Nanon put away in her kitchen the produce which they brought astribute. She always waited for her master's orders before she knewwhat portion was to be used in the house and what was to be sold inthe market. It was the goodman's custom, like that of a great manycountry gentlemen, to drink his bad wine and eat his spoiled fruit.

Towards five in the afternoon Grandet returned from Angers, havingmade fourteen thousand francs by the exchange on his gold, bringinghome in his wallet good treasury-notes which bore interest until theday he should invest them in the Funds. He had left Cornoiller atAngers to look after the horses, which were well-nigh foundered, withorders to bring them home slowly after they were rested.

"I have got back from Angers, wife," he said; "I am hungry."

Nanon called out to him from the kitchen: "Haven't you eaten anythingsince yesterday?"

"Nothing," answered the old man.

Nanon brought in the soup. Des Grassins came to take his client'sorders just as the family sat down to dinner. Grandet had not evenobserved his nephew.

"Go on eating, Grandet," said the banker; "we can talk. Do you knowwhat gold is worth in Angers? They have come from Nantes after it? Ishall send some of ours."

"Don't send any," said Grandet; "they have got enough. We are such oldfriends, I ought to save you from such a loss of time."

"But gold is worth thirteen francs fifty centimes."

"Say /was/ worth--"

"Where the devil have they got any?"

"I went to Angers last night," answered Grandet in a low voice.

The banker shook with surprise. Then a whispered conversation beganbetween the two, during which Grandet and des Grassins frequentlylooked at Charles. Presently des Grassins gave a start ofastonishment; probably Grandet was then instructing him to invest thesum which was to give him a hundred thousand francs a year in theFunds.

"Monsieur Grandet," said the banker to Charles, "I am starting forParis; if you have any commissions--"

"None, monsieur, I thank you," answered Charles.

"Thank him better than that, nephew. Monsieur is going to settle theaffairs of the house of Guillaume Grandet."

"Is there any hope?" said Charles eagerly.

"What!" exclaimed his uncle, with well-acted pride, "are you not mynephew? Your honor is ours. Is not your name Grandet?"

"Well, good-by, des Grassins; it is all in your hands. Decoy thosepeople as best you can; lead 'em by the nose."

The two diplomatists shook hands. The old cooper accompanied thebanker to the front door. Then, after closing it, he came back andplunged into his armchair, saying to Nanon,--

"Get me some black-currant ratafia."

Too excited, however, to remain long in one place, he got up, lookedat the portrait of Monsieur de la Bertelliere, and began to sing,doing what Nanon called his dancing steps,--

"Dans les gardes francaises J'avais un bon papa."

Nanon, Madame Grandet, and Eugenie looked at each other in silence.The hilarity of the master always frightened them when it reached itsclimax. The evening was soon over. Pere Grandet chose to go to bedearly, and when he went to bed, everybody else was expected to go too;like as when Augustus drank, Poland was drunk. On this occasion Nanon,Charles, and Eugenie were not less tired than the master. As forMadame Grandet, she slept, ate, drank, and walked according to thewill of her husband. However, during the two hours consecrated todigestion, the cooper, more facetious than he had ever been in hislife, uttered a number of his own particular apothegms,--a single oneof which will give the measure of his mind. When he had drunk hisratafia, he looked at his glass and said,--

"You have no sooner put your lips to a glass than it is empty! Such islife. You can't have and hold. Gold won't circulate and stay in yourpurse. If it were not for that, life would be too fine."

He was jovial and benevolent. When Nanon came with her spinning-wheel,"You must be tired," he said; "put away your hemp."

"Ah, bah! then I shall get sleepy," she answered.

"Poor Nanon! Will you have some ratafia?"

"I won't refuse a good offer; madame makes it a deal better than theapothecaries. What they sell is all drugs."

The following day the family, meeting at eight o'clock for the earlybreakfast, made a picture of genuine domestic intimacy. Grief haddrawn Madame Grandet, Eugenie, and Charles /en rapport/; even Nanonsympathized, without knowing why. The four now made one family. As tothe old man, his satisfied avarice and the certainty of soon gettingrid of the dandy without having to pay more than his journey toNantes, made him nearly indifferent to his presence in the house. Heleft the two children, as he called Charles and Eugenie, free toconduct themselves as they pleased, under the eye of Madame Grandet,in whom he had implicit confidence as to all that concerned public andreligious morality. He busied himself in straightening the boundariesof his fields and ditches along the high-road, in his poplar-plantations beside the Loire, in the winter work of his vineyards, andat Froidfond. All these things occupied his whole time.

For Eugenie the springtime of love had come. Since the scene at nightwhen she gave her little treasure to her cousin, her heart hadfollowed the treasure. Confederates in the same secret, they looked ateach other with a mutual intelligence which sank to the depth of theirconsciousness, giving a closer communion, a more intimate relation totheir feelings, and putting them, so to speak, beyond the pale ofordinary life. Did not their near relationship warrant the gentlenessin their tones, the tenderness in their glances? Eugenie took delightin lulling her cousin's pain with the pretty childish joys of a new-born love. Are there no sweet similitudes between the birth of loveand the birth of life? Do we not rock the babe with gentle songs andsoftest glances? Do we not tell it marvellous tales of the goldenfuture? Hope herself, does she not spread her radiant wings above itshead? Does it not shed, with infant fickleness, its tears of sorrowand its tears of joy? Does it not fret for trifles, cry for the prettypebbles with which to build its shifting palaces, for the flowersforgotten as soon as plucked? Is it not eager to grasp the comingtime, to spring forward into life? Love is our second transformation.Childhood and love were one and the same thing to Eugenie and toCharles; it was a first passion, with all its child-like play,--themore caressing to their hearts because they now were wrapped insadness. Struggling at birth against the gloom of mourning, their lovewas only the more in harmony with the provincial plainness of thatgray and ruined house. As they exchanged a few words beside the wellin the silent court, or lingered in the garden for the sunset hour,sitting on a mossy seat saying to each other the infinite nothings oflove, or mused in the silent calm which reigned between the house andthe ramparts like that beneath the arches of a church, Charlescomprehended the sanctity of love; for his great lady, his dearAnnette, had taught him only its stormy troubles. At this moment heleft the worldly passion, coquettish, vain, and showy as it was, andturned to the true, pure love. He loved even the house, whose customsno longer seemed to him ridiculous. He got up early in the morningsthat he might talk with Eugenie for a moment before her father came todole out the provisions; when the steps of the old man sounded on thestaircase he escaped into the garden. The small criminality of thismorning /tete-a-tete/ which Nanon pretended not to see, gave to theirinnocent love the lively charm of a forbidden joy.

After breakfast, when Grandet had gone to his fields and his otheroccupations, Charles remained with the mother and daughter, finding anunknown pleasure in holding their skeins, in watching them at work, inlistening to their quiet prattle. The simplicity of this half-monasticlife, which revealed to him the beauty of these souls, unknown andunknowing of the world, touched him keenly. He had believed suchmorals impossible in France, and admitted their existence nowhere butin Germany; even so, they seemed to him fabulous, only real in thenovels of Auguste Lafontaine. Soon Eugenie became to him the Margaretof Goethe--before her fall. Day by day his words, his looks enrapturedthe poor girl, who yielded herself up with delicious non-resistance tothe current of love; she caught her happiness as a swimmer seizes theoverhanging branch of a willow to draw himself from the river and lieat rest upon its shore. Did no dread of a coming absence sadden thehappy hours of those fleeting days? Daily some little circumstancereminded them of the parting that was at hand.

Three days after the departure of des Grassins, Grandet took hisnephew to the Civil courts, with the solemnity which country peopleattach to all legal acts, that he might sign a deed surrendering hisrights in his father's estate. Terrible renunciation! species ofdomestic apostasy! Charles also went before Maitre Cruchot to make twopowers of attorney,--one for des Grassins, the other for the friendwhom he had charged with the sale of his belongings. After that heattended to all the formalities necessary to obtain a passport forforeign countries; and finally, when he received his simple mourningclothes from Paris, he sent for the tailor of Saumur and sold to himhis useless wardrobe. This last act pleased Grandet exceedingly.

"Ah! now you look like a man prepared to embark and make yourfortune," he said, when Charles appeared in a surtout of plain blackcloth. "Good! very good!"

"What's that?" said his uncle, his eyes lighting up at a handful ofgold which Charles was carrying.

"Monsieur, I have collected all my buttons and rings and othersuperfluities which may have some value; but not knowing any one inSaumur, I wanted to ask you to--"

"To buy them?" said Grandet, interrupting him.

"No, uncle; only to tell me of an honest man who--"

"Give me those things, I will go upstairs and estimate their value; Iwill come back and tell you what it is to a fraction. Jeweller'sgold," examining a long chain, "eighteen or nineteen carats."

The goodman held out his huge hand and received the mass of gold,which he carried away.

"Cousin," said Grandet, "may I offer you these two buttons? They canfasten ribbons round your wrists; that sort of bracelet is much thefashion just now."

"I accept without hesitation," she answered, giving him anunderstanding look.

"Aunt, here is my mother's thimble; I have always kept it carefully inmy dressing-case," said Charles, presenting a pretty gold thimble toMadame Grandet, who for many years had longed for one.

"I cannot thank you; no words are possible, my nephew," said the poormother, whose eyes filled with tears. "Night and morning in my prayersI shall add one for you, the most earnest of all--for those whotravel. If I die, Eugenie will keep this treasure for you."

"They are worth nine hundred and eighty-nine francs, seventy-fivecentimes," said Grandet, opening the door. "To save you the pain ofselling them, I will advance the money--in /livres/."

The word /livres/ on the littoral of the Loire signifies that crownprices of six /livres/ are to be accepted as six francs withoutdeduction.

"I dared not propose it to you," answered Charles; "but it was mostrepugnant to me to sell my jewels to some second-hand dealer in yourown town. People should wash their dirty linen at home, as Napoleonsaid. I thank you for your kindness."

Grandet scratched his ear, and there was a moment's silence.

"My dear uncle," resumed Charles, looking at him with an uneasy air,as if he feared to wound his feelings, "my aunt and cousin have beenkind enough to accept a trifling remembrance of me. Will you allow meto give you these sleeve-buttons, which are useless to me now? Theywill remind you of a poor fellow who, far away, will always think ofthose who are henceforth all his family."

"My lad, my lad, you mustn't rob yourself this way! Let me see, wife,what have you got?" he added, turning eagerly to her. "Ah! a goldthimble. And you, little girl? What! diamond buttons? Yes, I'll acceptyour present, nephew," he answered, shaking Charles by the hand. "But--you must let me--pay--your--yes, your passage to the Indies. Yes, Iwish to pay your passage because--d'ye see, my boy?--in valuing yourjewels I estimated only the weight of the gold; very likely theworkmanship is worth something. So let us settle it that I am to giveyou fifteen hundred francs--in /livres/; Cruchot will lend them to me.I haven't got a copper farthing here,--unless Perrotet, who isbehindhand with his rent, should pay up. By the bye, I'll go and seehim."

He took his hat, put on his gloves, and went out.

"Then you are really going?" said Eugenie to her cousin, with a sadlook, mingled with admiration.

"I must," he said, bowing his head.

For some days past, Charles's whole bearing, manners, and speech hadbecome those of a man who, in spite of his profound affliction, feelsthe weight of immense obligations and has the strength to gathercourage from misfortune. He no longer repined, he became a man.Eugenie never augured better of her cousin's character than when shesaw him come down in the plain black clothes which suited well withhis pale face and sombre countenance. On that day the two women put ontheir own mourning, and all three assisted at a Requiem celebrated inthe parish church for the soul of the late Guillaume Grandet.

At the second breakfast Charles received letters from Paris and beganto read them.

"Well, cousin, are you satisfied with the management of your affairs?"said Eugenie in a low voice.

"Never ask such questions, my daughter," said Grandet. "What thedevil! do I tell you my affairs? Why do you poke your nose into yourcousin's? Let the lad alone!"

"Oh! I haven't any secrets," said Charles.

"Ta, ta, ta, ta, nephew; you'll soon find out that you must hold yourtongue in business."

When the two lovers were alone in the garden, Charles said to Eugenie,drawing her down on the old bench beneath the walnut-tree,--

"I did right to trust Alphonse; he has done famously. He has managedmy affairs with prudence and good faith. I now owe nothing in Paris.All my things have been sold; and he tells me that he has taken theadvice of an old sea-captain and spent three thousand francs on acommercial outfit of European curiosities which will be sure to be indemand in the Indies. He has sent my trunks to Nantes, where a ship isloading for San Domingo. In five days, Eugenie, we must bid each otherfarewell--perhaps forever, at least for years. My outfit and tenthousand francs, which two of my friends send me, are a very smallbeginning. I cannot look to return for many years. My dear cousin, donot weight your life in the scales with mine; I may perish; some goodmarriage may be offered to you--"

"Do you love me?" she said.

"Oh, yes! indeed, yes!" he answered, with a depth of tone thatrevealed an equal depth of feeling.

"I shall wait, Charles--Good heavens! there is my father at hiswindow," she said, repulsing her cousin, who leaned forward to kissher.

She ran quickly under the archway. Charles followed her. When she sawhim, she retreated to the foot of the staircase and opened the swing-door; then, scarcely knowing where she was going, Eugenie reached thecorner near Nanon's den, in the darkest end of the passage. ThereCharles caught her hand and drew her to his heart. Passing his armabout her waist, he made her lean gently upon him. Eugenie no longerresisted; she received and gave the purest, the sweetest, and yet,withal, the most unreserved of kisses.

"Dear Eugenie, a cousin is better than a brother, for he can marryyou," said Charles.

"So be it!" cried Nanon, opening the door of her lair.

The two lovers, alarmed, fled into the hall, where Eugenie took up herwork and Charles began to read the litanies of the Virgin in MadameGrandet's prayer-book.

"Mercy!" cried Nanon, "now they're saying their prayers."

As soon as Charles announced his immediate departure, Grandetbestirred himself to testify much interest in his nephew. He becamevery liberal of all that cost him nothing; took pains to find apacker; declared the man asked too much for his cases; insisted onmaking them himself out of old planks; got up early in the morning tofit and plane and nail together the strips, out of which he made, tohis own satisfaction, some strong cases, in which he packed allCharles's effects; he also took upon himself to send them by boat downthe Loire, to insure them, and get them to Nantes in proper time.

After the kiss taken in the passage, the hours fled for Eugenie withfrightful rapidity. Sometimes she thought of following her cousin.Those who have known that most endearing of all passions,--the onewhose duration is each day shortened by time, by age, by mortalillness, by human chances and fatalities,--they will understand thepoor girl's tortures. She wept as she walked in the garden, now sonarrow to her, as indeed the court, the house, the town all seemed.She launched in thought upon the wide expanse of the ocean he wasabout to traverse. At last the eve of his departure came. Thatmorning, in the absence of Grandet and of Nanon, the precious casewhich contained the two portraits was solemnly installed in the onlydrawer of the old cabinet which could be locked, where the now emptyvelvet purse was lying. This deposit was not made without a goodlynumber of tears and kisses. When Eugenie placed the key within herbosom she had no courage to forbid the kiss with which Charles sealedthe act.

"It shall never leave that place, my friend," she said.

"Then my heart will be always there."

"Ah! Charles, it is not right," she said, as though she blamed him.

"Are we not married?" he said. "I have thy promise,--then take mine."

"Thine; I am thine forever!" they each said, repeating the words twiceover.

No promise made upon this earth was ever purer. The innocent sincerityof Eugenie had sanctified for a moment the young man's love.

On the morrow the breakfast was sad. Nanon herself, in spite of thegold-embroidered robe and the Jeannette cross bestowed by Charles, hadtears in her eyes.

"The poor dear monsieur who is going on the seas--oh, may God guidehim!"

At half-past ten the whole family started to escort Charles to thediligence for Nantes. Nanon let loose the dog, locked the door, andinsisted on carrying the young man's carpet-bag. All the tradesmen inthe tortuous old street were on the sill of their shop-doors to watchthe procession, which was joined in the market-place by MaitreCruchot.

"Eugenie, be sure you don't cry," said her mother.

"Nephew," said Grandet, in the doorway of the inn from which the coachstarted, kissing Charles on both cheeks, "depart poor, return rich;you will find the honor of your father safe. I answer for that myself,I--Grandet; for it will only depend on you to--"

"Ah! my uncle, you soften the bitterness of my departure. Is it notthe best gift that you could make me?"

Not understanding his uncle's words which he had thus interrupted,Charles shed tears of gratitude upon the tanned cheeks of the oldmiser, while Eugenie pressed the hand of her cousin and that of herfather with all her strength. The notary smiled, admiring the slyspeech of the old man, which he alone had understood. The family stoodabout the coach until it started; then as it disappeared upon thebridge, and its rumble grew fainter in the distance, Grandet said:

"Good-by to you!"

Happily no one but Maitre Cruchot heard the exclamation. Eugenie andher mother had gone to a corner of the quay from which they couldstill see the diligence and wave their white handkerchiefs, to whichCharles made answer by displaying his.

"Ah! mother, would that I had the power of God for a single moment,"said Eugenie, when she could no longer see her lover's handkerchief.

*****

Not to interrupt the current of events which are about to take placein the bosom of the Grandet family, it is necessary to cast aforestalling eye upon the various operations which the goodman carriedon in Paris by means of Monsieur des Grassins. A month after thelatter's departure from Saumur, Grandet, became possessed of acertificate of a hundred thousand francs a year from his investment inthe Funds, bought at eighty francs net. The particulars revealed athis death by the inventory of his property threw no light upon themeans which his suspicious nature took to remit the price of theinvestment and receive the certificate thereof. Maitre Cruchot was ofopinion that Nanon, unknown to herself, was the trusty instrument bywhich the money was transported; for about this time she was absentfive days, under a pretext of putting things to rights at Froidfond,--as if the goodman were capable of leaving anything lying about or outof order!

In all that concerned the business of the house of Guillaume Grandetthe old cooper's intentions were fulfilled to the letter. The Bank ofFrance, as everybody knows, affords exact information about all thelarge fortunes in Paris and the provinces. The names of des Grassinsand Felix Grandet of Saumur were well known there, and they enjoyedthe esteem bestowed on financial celebrities whose wealth comes fromimmense and unencumbered territorial possessions. The arrival of theSaumur banker for the purpose, it was said, of honorably liquidatingthe affairs of Grandet of Paris, was enough to avert the shame ofprotested notes from the memory of the defunct merchant. The seals onthe property were taken off in presence of the creditors, and thenotary employed by Grandet went to work at once on the inventory ofthe assets. Soon after this, des Grassins called a meeting of thecreditors, who unanimously elected him, conjointly with FrancoisKeller, the head of a rich banking-house and one of those principallyinterested in the affair, as liquidators, with full power to protectboth the honor of the family and the interests of the claimants. Thecredit of Grandet of Saumur, the hopes he diffused by means of desGrassins in the minds of all concerned, facilitated the transactions.Not a single creditor proved recalcitrant; no one thought of passinghis claim to his profit-and-loss account; each and all saidconfidently, "Grandet of Saumur will pay."

Six months went by. The Parisians had redeemed the notes incirculation as they fell due, and held them under lock and key intheir desks. First result aimed at by the old cooper! Nine monthsafter this preliminary meeting, the two liquidators distributed forty-seven per cent to each creditor on his claim. This amount was obtainedby the sale of the securities, property, and possessions of all kindsbelonging to the late Guillaume Grandet, and was paid over withscrupulous fidelity. Unimpeachable integrity was shown in thetransaction. The creditors gratefully acknowledged the remarkable andincontestable honor displayed by the Grandets. When these praises hadcirculated for a certain length of time, the creditors asked for therest of their money. It became necessary to write a collective letterto Grandet of Saumur.

"Here it comes!" said the old man as he threw the letter into thefire. "Patience, my good friends!"

In answer to the proposals contained in the letter, Grandet of Saumurdemanded that all vouchers for claims against the estate of hisbrother should be deposited with a notary, together with aquittancesfor the forty-seven per cent already paid; he made this demand underpretence of sifting the accounts and finding out the exact conditionof the estate. It roused at once a variety of difficulties. Generallyspeaking, the creditor is a species of maniac, ready to agree toanything one day, on the next breathing fire and slaughter; later on,he grows amicable and easy-going. To-day his wife is good-humored, hislast baby has cut its first tooth, all is well at home, and he isdetermined not to lose a sou; on the morrow it rains, he can't go out,he is gloomy, he says yes to any proposal that is made to him, so longas it will put an end to the affair; on the third day he declares hemust have guarantees; by the end of the month he wants his debtor'shead, and becomes at heart an executioner. The creditor is a good deallike the sparrow on whose tail confiding children are invited to putsalt,--with this difference, that he applies the image to his claim,the proceeds of which he is never able to lay hold of. Grandet hadstudied the atmospheric variations of creditors, and the creditors ofhis brother justified all his calculations. Some were angry, andflatly refused to give in their vouchers.

"Very good; so much the better," said Grandet, rubbing his hands overthe letter in which des Grassins announced the fact.

Others agreed to the demand, but only on condition that their rightsshould be fully guaranteed; they renounced none, and even reserved thepower of ultimately compelling a failure. On this began a longcorrespondence, which ended in Grandet of Saumur agreeing to allconditions. By means of this concession the placable creditors wereable to bring the dissatisfied creditors to reason. The deposit wasthen made, but not without sundry complaints.

"Your goodman," they said to des Grassins, "is tricking us."

Twenty-three months after the death of Guillaume Grandet many of thecreditors, carried away by more pressing business in the markets ofParis, had forgotten their Grandet claims, or only thought of them tosay:

"I begin to believe that forty-seven per cent is all I shall ever getout of that affair."

The old cooper had calculated on the power of time, which, as he usedto say, is a pretty good devil after all. By the end of the third yeardes Grassins wrote to Grandet that he had brought the creditors toagree to give up their claims for ten per cent on the two million fourhundred thousand francs still due by the house of Grandet. Grandetanswered that the notary and the broker whose shameful failures hadcaused the death of his brother were still living, that they might nowhave recovered their credit, and that they ought to be sued, so as toget something out of them towards lessening the total of the deficit.

By the end of the fourth year the liabilities were definitelyestimated at a sum of twelve hundred thousand francs. Manynegotiations, lasting over six months, took place between thecreditors and the liquidators, and between the liquidators andGrandet. To make a long story short, Grandet of Saumur, anxious bythis time to get out of the affair, told the liquidators, about theninth month of the fourth year, that his nephew had made a fortune inthe Indies and was disposed to pay his father's debts in full; hetherefore could not take upon himself to make any settlement withoutpreviously consulting him; he had written to him, and was expecting ananswer. The creditors were held in check until the middle of the fifthyear by the words, "payment in full," which the wily old miser threwout from time to time as he laughed in his beard, saying with a smileand an oath, "Those Parisians!"

But the creditors were reserved for a fate unexampled in the annals ofcommerce. When the events of this history bring them once more intonotice, they will be found still in the position Grandet had resolvedto force them into from the first.

As soon as the Funds reached a hundred and fifteen, Pere Grandet soldout his interests and withdrew two million four hundred thousandfrancs in gold, to which he added, in his coffers, the six hundredthousand francs compound interest which he had derived from thecapital. Des Grassins now lived in Paris. In the first place he hadbeen made a deputy; then he became infatuated (father of a family ashe was, though horribly bored by the provincial life of Saumur) with apretty actress at the Theatre de Madame, known as Florine, and hepresently relapsed into the old habits of his army life. It is uselessto speak of his conduct; Saumur considered it profoundly immoral. Hiswife was fortunate in the fact of her property being settled uponherself, and in having sufficient ability to keep up the banking-housein Saumur, which was managed in her name and repaired the breach inher fortune caused by the extravagance of her husband. The Cruchotinesmade so much talk about the false position of the quasi-widow that shemarried her daughter very badly, and was forced to give up all hope ofan alliance between Eugenie Grandet and her son. Adolphe joined hisfather in Paris and became, it was said, a worthless fellow. TheCruchots triumphed.

"Your husband hasn't common sense," said Grandet as he lent Madame desGrassins some money on a note securely endorsed. "I am very sorry foryou, for you are a good little woman."

"Ah, monsieur," said the poor lady, "who could have believed that whenhe left Saumur to go to Paris on your business he was going to hisruin?"

"Heaven is my witness, madame, that up to the last moment I did all Icould to prevent him from going. Monsieur le president was mostanxious to take his place; but he was determined to go, and now we allsee why."

In this way Grandet made it quite plain that he was under noobligation to des Grassins.

*****

In all situations women have more cause for suffering than men, andthey suffer more. Man has strength and the power of exercising it; heacts, moves, thinks, occupies himself; he looks ahead, and seesconsolation in the future. It was thus with Charles. But the womanstays at home; she is always face to face with the grief from whichnothing distracts her; she goes down to the depths of the abyss whichyawns before her, measures it, and often fills it with her tears andprayers. Thus did Eugenie. She initiated herself into her destiny. Tofeel, to love, to suffer, to devote herself,--is not this the sum ofwoman's life? Eugenie was to be in all things a woman, except in theone thing that consoles for all. Her happiness, picked up like nailsscattered on a wall--to use the fine simile of Bossuet--would never somuch as fill even the hollow of her hand. Sorrows are never long incoming; for her they came soon. The day after Charles's departure thehouse of Monsieur Grandet resumed its ordinary aspect in the eyes ofall, except in those of Eugenie, to whom it grew suddenly empty. Shewished, if it could be done unknown to her father, that Charles's roommight be kept as he had left it. Madame Grandet and Nanon were willingaccomplices in this /statu quo/.

"Who knows but he may come back sooner than we think for?" she said.

"Ah, don't I wish I could see him back!" answered Nanon. "I took tohim! He was such a dear, sweet young man,--pretty too, with his curlyhair." Eugenie looked at Nanon. "Holy Virgin! don't look at me thatway, mademoiselle; your eyes are like those of a lost soul."

From that day the beauty of Mademoiselle Grandet took a new character.The solemn thoughts of love which slowly filled her soul, and thedignity of the woman beloved, gave to her features an illuminationsuch as painters render by a halo. Before the coming of her cousin,Eugenie might be compared to the Virgin before the conception; afterhe had gone, she was like the Virgin Mother,--she had given birth tolove. These two Marys so different, so well represented by Spanishart, embody one of those shining symbols with which Christianityabounds.

Returning from Mass on the morning after Charles's departure,--havingmade a vow to hear it daily,--Eugenie bought a map of the world, whichshe nailed up beside her looking-glass, that she might follow hercousin on his westward way, that she might put herself, were it everso little, day by day into the ship that bore him, and see him and askhim a thousand questions,--"Art thou well? Dost thou suffer? Dost thouthink of me when the star, whose beauty and usefulness thou hasttaught me to know, shines upon thee?" In the mornings she sat pensivebeneath the walnut-tree, on the worm-eaten bench covered with graylichens, where they had said to each other so many precious things, somany trifles, where they had built the pretty castles of their futurehome. She thought of the future now as she looked upward to the bit ofsky which was all the high walls suffered her to see; then she turnedher eyes to the angle where the sun crept on, and to the roof abovethe room in which he had slept. Hers was the solitary love, thepersistent love, which glides into every thought and becomes thesubstance, or, as our fathers might have said, the tissue of life.When the would-be friends of Pere Grandet came in the evening fortheir game at cards, she was gay and dissimulating; but all themorning she talked of Charles with her mother and Nanon. Nanon hadbrought herself to see that she could pity the sufferings of her youngmistress without failing in her duty to the old master, and she wouldsay to Eugenie,--

"If I had a man for myself I'd--I'd follow him to hell, yes, I'dexterminate myself for him; but I've none. I shall die and never knowwhat life is. Would you believe, mamz'elle, that old Cornoiller (agood fellow all the same) is always round my petticoats for the sakeof my money,--just for all the world like the rats who come smellingafter the master's cheese and paying court to you? I see it all; I'vegot a shrewd eye, though I am as big as a steeple. Well, mamz'elle, itpleases me, but it isn't love."

X

Two months went by. This domestic life, once so monotonous, was nowquickened with the intense interest of a secret that bound these womenintimately together. For them Charles lived and moved beneath the grimgray rafters of the hall. Night and morning Eugenie opened thedressing-case and gazed at the portrait of her aunt. One Sundaymorning her mother surprised her as she stood absorbed in finding hercousin's features in his mother's face. Madame Grandet was then forthe first time admitted into the terrible secret of the exchange madeby Charles against her daughter's treasure.

"You gave him all!" cried the poor mother, terrified. "What will yousay to your father on New Year's Day when he asks to see your gold?"

Eugenie's eyes grew fixed, and the two women lived through mortalterror for more than half the morning. They were so troubled in mindthat they missed high Mass, and only went to the military service. Inthree days the year 1819 would come to an end. In three days aterrible drama would begin, a bourgeois tragedy, without poison, ordagger, or the spilling of blood; but--as regards the actors in it--more cruel than all the fabled horrors in the family of the Atrides.

"What will become of us?" said Madame Grandet to her daughter, lettingher knitting fall upon her knees.

The poor mother had gone through such anxiety for the past two monthsthat the woollen sleeves which she needed for the coming winter werenot yet finished. This domestic fact, insignificant as it seems, boresad results. For want of those sleeves, a chill seized her in themidst of a sweat caused by a terrible explosion of anger on the partof her husband.

"I have been thinking, my poor child, that if you had confided yoursecret to me we should have had time to write to Monsieur des Grassinsin Paris. He might have sent us gold pieces like yours; though Grandetknows them all, perhaps--"

"It is too late," said Eugenie in a broken, hollow voice. "To-morrowmorning we must go and wish him a happy New Year in his chamber."

"But, my daughter, why should I not consult the Cruchots?"

"No, no; it would be delivering me up to them, and putting ourselvesin their power. Besides, I have chosen my course. I have done right, Irepent of nothing. God will protect me. His will be done! Ah! mother,if you had read his letter, you, too, would have thought only of him."

The next morning, January 1, 1820, the horrible fear to which motherand daughter were a prey suggested to their minds a natural excuse bywhich to escape the solemn entrance into Grandet's chamber. The winterof 1819-1820 was one of the coldest of that epoch. The snow encumberedthe roofs.

Madame Grandet called to her husband as soon as she heard him stirringin his chamber, and said,--

"Grandet, will you let Nanon light a fire here for me? The cold is sosharp that I am freezing under the bedclothes. At my age I need somecomforts. Besides," she added, after a slight pause, "Eugenie shallcome and dress here; the poor child might get an illness from dressingin her cold room in such weather. Then we will go and wish you a happyNew Year beside the fire in the hall."

"Ta, ta, ta, ta, what a tongue! a pretty way to begin the new year,Madame Grandet! You never talked so much before; but you haven't beensopping your bread in wine, I know that."

There was a moment's silence.

"Well," resumed the goodman, who no doubt had some reason of his ownfor agreeing to his wife's request, "I'll do what you ask, MadameGrandet. You are a good woman, and I don't want any harm to happen toyou at your time of life,--though as a general thing the Bertellieresare as sound as a roach. Hein! isn't that so?" he added after a pause."Well, I forgive them; we got their property in the end." And hecoughed.

"You are very gay this morning, monsieur," said the poor womangravely.

"I'm always gay,--

"'Gai, gai, gai, le tonnelier, Raccommodez votre cuvier!'"

he answered, entering his wife's room fully dressed. "Yes, on my word,it is cold enough to freeze you solid. We shall have a fine breakfast,wife. Des Grassins has sent me a pate-de-foie-gras truffled! I amgoing now to get it at the coach-office. There'll be a double napoleonfor Eugenie in the package," he whispered in Madame Grandet's ear. "Ihave no gold left, wife. I had a few stray pieces--I don't mindtelling you that--but I had to let them go in business."

Then, by way of celebrating the new year, he kissed her on theforehead.

"Eugenie," cried the mother, when Grandet was fairly gone, "I don'tknow which side of the bed your father got out of, but he is good-tempered this morning. Perhaps we shall come out safe after all?"

"What's happened to the master?" said Nanon, entering her mistress'sroom to light the fire. "First place, he said, 'Good-morning; happyNew Year, you big fool! Go and light my wife's fire, she's cold'; andthen, didn't I feel silly when he held out his hand and gave me a six-franc piece, which isn't worn one bit? Just look at it, madame! Oh,the kind man! He is a good man, that's a fact. There are some peoplewho the older they get the harder they grow; but he,--why he's gettingsoft and improving with time, like your ratafia! He is a good, goodman--"

The secret of Grandet's joy lay in the complete success of hisspeculation. Monsieur des Grassins, after deducting the amount whichthe old cooper owed him for the discount on a hundred and fiftythousand francs in Dutch notes, and for the surplus which he hadadvanced to make up the sum required for the investment in the Fundswhich was to produce a hundred thousand francs a year, had now senthim, by the diligence, thirty thousand francs in silver coin, theremainder of his first half-year's interest, informing him at the sametime that the Funds had already gone up in value. They were thenquoted at eighty-nine; the shrewdest capitalists bought in, towardsthe last of January, at ninety-three. Grandet had thus gained in twomonths twelve per cent on his capital; he had simplified his accounts,and would in future receive fifty thousand francs interest every sixmonths, without incurring any taxes or costs for repairs. Heunderstood at last what it was to invest money in the publicsecurities,--a system for which provincials have always shown a markedrepugnance,--and at the end of five years he found himself master of acapital of six millions, which increased without much effort of hisown, and which, joined to the value and proceeds of his territorialpossessions, gave him a fortune that was absolutely colossal. The sixfrancs bestowed on Nanon were perhaps the reward of some great servicewhich the poor servant had rendered to her master unawares.

"Oh! oh! where's Pere Grandet going? He has been scurrying about sincesunrise as if to a fire," said the tradespeople to each other as theyopened their shops for the day.

When they saw him coming back from the wharf, followed by a porterfrom the coach-office wheeling a barrow which was laden with sacks,they all had their comments to make:--

"Water flows to the river; the old fellow was running after his gold,"said one.

"He gets it from Paris and Froidfond and Holland," said another.

"He'll end by buying up Saumur," cried a third.

"He doesn't mind the cold, he's so wrapped up in his gains," said awife to her husband.

"Hey! hey! Monsieur Grandet, if that's too heavy for you," said acloth-dealer, his nearest neighbor, "I'll take it off your hands."

"Heavy?" said the cooper, "I should think so; it's all sous!"

"Silver sous," said the porter in a low voice.

"If you want me to take care of you, keep your tongue between yourteeth," said the goodman to the porter as they reached the door.

"The old fox! I thought he was deaf; seems he can hear fast enough infrosty weather."

"Here's twenty sous for your New Year, and /mum/!" said Grandet. "Beoff with you! Nanon shall take back your barrow. Nanon, are thelinnets at church?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Then lend a hand! go to work!" he cried, piling the sacks upon her.In a few moments all were carried up to his inner room, where he shuthimself in with them. "When breakfast is ready, knock on the wall," hesaid as he disappeared. "Take the barrow back to the coach-office."

The family did not breakfast that day until ten o'clock.

"Your father will not ask to see your gold downstairs," said MadameGrandet as they got back from Mass. "You must pretend to be verychilly. We may have time to replace the treasure before your fete-day."

Grandet came down the staircase thinking of his splendid speculationin government securities, and wondering how he could metamorphose hisParisian silver into solid gold; he was making up his mind to investin this way everything he could lay hands on until the Funds shouldreach a par value. Fatal reverie for Eugenie! As soon as he came in,the two women wished him a happy New Year,--his daughter by puttingher arms round his neck and caressing him; Madame Grandet gravely andwith dignity.

"Ha! ha! my child," he said, kissing his daughter on both cheeks. "Iwork for you, don't you see? I think of your happiness. Must havemoney to be happy. Without money there's not a particle of happiness.Here! there's a new napoleon for you. I sent to Paris for it. On myword of honor, it's all the gold I have; you are the only one that hasgot any gold. I want to see your gold, little one."

"Oh! it is too cold; let us have breakfast," answered Eugenie.

"Well, after breakfast, then; it will help the digestion. That fatdes Grassins sent me the pate. Eat as much as you like, my children,it costs nothing. Des Grassins is getting along very well. I amsatisfied with him. The old fish is doing Charles a good service, andgratis too. He is making a very good settlement of that poor deceasedGrandet's business. Hoo! hoo!" he muttered, with his mouth full, aftera pause, "how good it is! Eat some, wife; that will feed you for atleast two days."

"I am not hungry. I am very poorly; you know that."

"Ah, bah! you can stuff yourself as full as you please without danger,you're a Bertelliere; they are all hearty. You are a bit yellow,that's true; but I like yellow, myself."

The expectation of ignominious and public death is perhaps lesshorrible to a condemned criminal than the anticipation of what wascoming after breakfast to Madame Grandet and Eugenie. The moregleefully the old man talked and ate, the more their hearts shrankwithin them. The daughter, however, had an inward prop at this crisis,--she gathered strength through love.

"For him! for him!" she cried within her, "I would die a thousanddeaths."

At this thought, she shot a glance at her mother which flamed withcourage.

"Clear away," said Grandet to Nanon when, about eleven o'clock,breakfast was over, "but leave the table. We can spread your littletreasure upon it," he said, looking at Eugenie. "Little? Faith! no; itisn't little. You possess, in actual value, five thousand nine hundredand fifty-nine francs and the forty I gave you just now. That makessix thousand francs, less one. Well, now see here, little one! I'llgive you that one franc to make up the round number. Hey! what are youlistening for, Nanon? Mind your own business; go and do your work."

"I have no gold myself. I had some, but it is all gone. I'll give youin return six thousand francs in /livres/, and you are to put themjust where I tell you. You mustn't think anything more about your'dozen.' When I marry you (which will be soon) I shall get you ahusband who can give you the finest 'dozen' ever seen in theprovinces. Now attend to me, little girl. There's a fine chance foryou; you can put your six thousand francs into government funds, andyou will receive every six months nearly two hundred francs interest,without taxes, or repairs, or frost, or hail, or floods, or anythingelse to swallow up the money. Perhaps you don't like to part with yourgold, hey, my girl? Never mind, bring it to me all the same. I'll getyou some more like it,--like those Dutch coins and the /portugaises/,the rupees of Mogul, and the /genovines/,--I'll give you some more onyour fete-days, and in three years you'll have got back half yourlittle treasure. What's that you say? Look up, now. Come, go and getit, the precious metal. You ought to kiss me on the eyelids fortelling you the secrets and the mysteries of the life and death ofmoney. Yes, silver and gold live and swarm like men; they come, andgo, and sweat, and multiply--"

Eugenie rose; but after making a few steps towards the door she turnedabruptly, looked her father in the face, and said,--

"I have not got /my/ gold."

"You have not got your gold!" cried Grandet, starting up erect, like ahorse that hears a cannon fired beside him.

"No, I have not got it."

"You are mistaken, Eugenie."

"No."

"By the shears of my father!"

Whenever the old man swore that oath the rafters trembled.

"Holy Virgin! Madame is turning pale," cried Nanon.

"Grandet, your anger will kill me," said the poor mother.

"Ta, ta, ta, ta! nonsense; you never die in your family! Eugenie, whathave you done with your gold?" he cried, rushing upon her.

"Monsieur," said the daughter, falling at Madame Grandet's knees, "mymother is ill. Look at her; do not kill her."

Grandet was frightened by the pallor which overspread his wife's face,usually so yellow.

"Nanon, help me to bed," said the poor woman in a feeble voice; "I amdying--"

Nanon gave her mistress an arm, Eugenie gave her another; but it wasonly with infinite difficulty that they could get her upstairs, shefell with exhaustion at every step. Grandet remained alone. However,in a few moments he went up six or eight stairs and called out,--

"Eugenie, when your mother is in bed, come down."

"Yes, father."

She soon came, after reassuring her mother.

"My daughter," said Grandet, "you will now tell me what you have donewith your gold."

"My father, if you make me presents of which I am not the solemistress, take them back," she answered coldly, picking up thenapoleon from the chimney-piece and offering it to him.

Grandet seized the coin and slipped it into his breeches' pocket.

"I shall certainly never give you anything again. Not so much asthat!" he said, clicking his thumb-nail against a front tooth. "Do youdare to despise your father? have you no confidence in him? Don't youknow what a father is? If he is nothing for you, he is nothing at all.Where is your gold?"

"Father, I love and respect you, in spite of your anger; but I humblyask you to remember that I am twenty-three years old. You have told meoften that I have attained my majority, and I do not forget it. I haveused my money as I chose to use it, and you may be sure that it wasput to a good use--"

"What use?"

"That is an inviolable secret," she answered. "Have you no secrets?"

"I am the head of the family; I have my own affairs."

"And this is mine."

"It must be something bad if you can't tell it to your father,Mademoiselle Grandet."

"It is good, and I cannot tell it to my father."

"At least you can tell me when you parted with your gold?"

Eugenie made a negative motion with her head.

"You had it on your birthday, hein?"

She grew as crafty through love as her father was through avarice, andreiterated the negative sign.

"Was there ever such obstinacy! It's a theft," cried Grandet, hisvoice going up in a crescendo which gradually echoed through thehouse. "What! here, in my own home, under my very eyes, somebody hastaken your gold!--the only gold we have!--and I'm not to know who hasgot it! Gold is a precious thing. Virtuous girls go wrong sometimes,and give--I don't know what; they do it among the great people, andeven among the bourgeoisie. But give their gold!--for you have givenit to some one, hein?--"

Eugenie was silent and impassive.

"Was there ever such a daughter? Is it possible that I am your father?If you have invested it anywhere, you must have a receipt--"

"Was I free--yes or no--to do what I would with my own? Was it notmine?"

"You are a child."

"Of age."

Dumbfounded by his daughter's logic, Grandet turned pale and stampedand swore. When at last he found words, he cried: "Serpent! Cursedgirl! Ah, deceitful creature! You know I love you, and you takeadvantage of it. She'd cut her father's throat! Good God! you've givenour fortune to that ne'er-do-well,--that dandy with morocco boots! Bythe shears of my father! I can't disinherit you, but I curse you,--youand your cousin and your children! Nothing good will come of it! Doyou hear? If it was to Charles--but, no; it's impossible. What! hasthat wretched fellow robbed me?--"

He looked at his daughter, who continued cold and silent.

"She won't stir; she won't flinch! She's more Grandet than I'mGrandet! Ha! you have not given your gold for nothing? Come, speak thetruth!"

Eugenie looked at her father with a sarcastic expression that stunghim.

"Eugenie, you are here, in my house,--in your father's house. If youwish to stay here, you must submit yourself to me. The priests tellyou to obey me." Eugenie bowed her head. "You affront me in all I holdmost dear. I will not see you again until you submit. Go to yourchamber. You will stay there till I give you permission to leave it.Nanon will bring you bread and water. You hear me--go!"

Eugenie burst into tears and fled up to her mother. Grandet, aftermarching two or three times round the garden in the snow withoutheeding the cold, suddenly suspected that his daughter had gone to hermother; only too happy to find her disobedient to his orders, heclimbed the stairs with the agility of a cat and appeared in MadameGrandet's room just as she was stroking Eugenie's hair, while thegirl's face was hidden in her motherly bosom.

"Be comforted, my poor child," she was saying; "your father will getover it."

"She has no father!" said the old man. "Can it be you and I, MadameGrandet, who have given birth to such a disobedient child? A fineeducation,--religious, too! Well! why are you not in your chamber?Come, to prison, to prison, mademoiselle!"

"Would you deprive me of my daughter, monsieur?" said Madame Grandet,turning towards him a face that was now red with fever.

"If you want to keep her, carry her off! Clear out--out of my house,both of you! Thunder! where is the gold? what's become of the gold?"

Eugenie rose, looked proudly at her father, and withdrew to her room.Grandet turned the key of the door.

"Nanon," he cried, "put out the fire in the hall."

Then he sat down in an armchair beside his wife's fire and said toher,--

"Undoubtedly she has given the gold to that miserable seducer,Charles, who only wanted our money."

"I knew nothing about it," she answered, turning to the other side ofthe bed, that she might escape the savage glances of her husband. "Isuffer so much from your violence that I shall never leave this room,if I trust my own presentiments, till I am carried out of it in mycoffin. You ought to have spared me this suffering, monsieur,--you, towhom I have caused no pain; that is, I think so. Your daughter lovesyou. I believe her to be as innocent as the babe unborn. Do not makeher wretched. Revoke your sentence. The cold is very severe; you maygive her some serious illness."

"I will not see her, neither will I speak to her. She shall stay inher room, on bread and water, until she submits to her father. Whatthe devil! shouldn't a father know where the gold in his house hasgone to? She owned the only rupees in France, perhaps, and the Dutchducats and the /genovines/--"

"Monsieur, Eugenie is our only child; and even if she had thrown theminto the water--"

"Into the water!" cried her husband; "into the water! You are crazy,Madame Grandet! What I have said is said; you know that well enough.If you want peace in this household, make your daughter confess, pumpit out of her. Women understand how to do that better than we do.Whatever she has done, I sha'n't eat her. Is she afraid of me? Even ifshe has plastered Charles with gold from head to foot, he is on thehigh seas, and nobody can get at him, hein!"

"But, monsieur--" Excited by the nervous crisis through which she hadpassed, and by the fate of her daughter, which brought forth all hertenderness and all her powers of mind, Madame Grandet suddenlyobserved a frightful movement of her husband's wen, and, in the veryact of replying, she changed her speech without changing the tones ofher voice,--"But, monsieur, I have not more influence over her thanyou have. She has said nothing to me; she takes after you."

"Tut, tut! Your tongue is hung in the middle this morning. Ta, ta, ta,ta! You are setting me at defiance, I do believe. I daresay you are inleague with her."

He looked fixedly at his wife.

"Monsieur Grandet, if you wish to kill me, you have only to go on likethis. I tell you, monsieur,--and if it were to cost me my life, Iwould say it,--you do wrong by your daughter; she is more in the rightthan you are. That money belonged to her; she is incapable of makingany but a good use of it, and God alone has the right to know our gooddeeds. Monsieur, I implore you, take Eugenie back into favor; forgiveher. If you will do this you will lessen the injury your anger hasdone me; perhaps you will save my life. My daughter! oh, monsieur,give me back my daughter!"

"I shall decamp," he said; "the house is not habitable. A mother anddaughter talking and arguing like that! Broooouh! Pouah! A fine NewYear's present you've made me, Eugenie," he called out. "Yes, yes, cryaway! What you've done will bring you remorse, do you hear? What's thegood of taking the sacrament six times every three months, if you giveaway your father's gold secretly to an idle fellow who'll eat yourheart out when you've nothing else to give him? You'll find out someday what your Charles is worth, with his morocco boots andsupercilious airs. He has got neither heart nor soul if he dared tocarry off a young girl's treasure without the consent of her parents."

When the street-door was shut, Eugenie came out of her room and wentto her mother.

"What courage you have had for your daughter's sake!" she said.

"Ah! my child, see where forbidden things may lead us. You forced meto tell a lie."

"I will ask God to punish only me."

"Is it true," cried Nanon, rushing in alarmed, "that mademoiselle isto be kept on bread and water for the rest of her life?"

"What does that signify, Nanon?" said Eugenie tranquilly.

"Goodness! do you suppose I'll eat /frippe/ when the daughter of thehouse is eating dry bread? No, no!"

"Don't say a word about all this, Nanon," said Eugenie.

"I'll be as mute as a fish; but you'll see!"

*****

Grandet dined alone for the first time in twenty-four years.

"So you're a widower, monsieur," said Nanon; "it must be disagreeableto be a widower with two women in the house."

"I did not speak to you. Hold your jaw, or I'll turn you off! What isthat I hear boiling in your saucepan on the stove?"

"It is grease I'm trying out."

"There will be some company to-night. Light the fire."

The Cruchots, Madame des Grassins, and her son arrived at the usualhour of eight, and were surprised to see neither Madame Grandet norher daughter.

"My wife is not very well, and Eugenie is with her," said the oldwine-grower, whose face betrayed no emotion.

At the end of an hour spent in idle conversation, Madame des Grassins,who had gone up to see Madame Grandet, came down, and every oneinquired,--

"How is Madame Grandet?"

"Not at all well," she answered; "her condition seems to me reallyalarming. At her age you ought to take every precaution, PapaGrandet."

"We'll see about it," said the old man in an absent way.

They all wished him good-night. When the Cruchots got into the streetMadame des Grassins said to them,--

"There is something going on at the Grandets. The mother is very illwithout her knowing it. The girl's eyes are red, as if she had beencrying all day. Can they be trying to marry her against her will?"

*****

When Grandet had gone to bed Nanon came softly to Eugenie's room inher stockinged feet and showed her a pate baked in a saucepan.

"See, mademoiselle," said the good soul, "Cornoiller gave me a hare.You eat so little that this pate will last you full a week; in suchfrosty weather it won't spoil. You sha'n't live on dry bread, I'mdetermined; it isn't wholesome."

"Poor Nanon!" said Eugenie, pressing her hand.

"I've made it downright good and dainty, and /he/ never found it out.I bought the lard and the spices out of my six francs: I'm themistress of my own money"; and she disappeared rapidly, fancying sheheard Grandet.

XI

For several months the old wine-grower came constantly to his wife'sroom at all hours of the day, without ever uttering his daughter'sname, or seeing her, or making the smallest allusion to her. MadameGrandet did not leave her chamber, and daily grew worse. Nothingsoftened the old man; he remained unmoved, harsh, and cold as agranite rock. He continued to go and come about his business as usual;but ceased to stutter, talked less, and was more obdurate in businesstransactions than ever before. Often he made mistakes in adding up hisfigures.

"Something is going on at the Grandets," said the Grassinists and theCruchotines.

"What has happened in the Grandet family?" became a fixed questionwhich everybody asked everybody else at the little evening-parties ofSaumur. Eugenie went to Mass escorted by Nanon. If Madame des Grassinssaid a few words to her on coming out of church, she answered in anevasive manner, without satisfying any curiosity. However, at the endof two months, it became impossible to hide, either from the threeCruchots or from Madame des Grassins, the fact that Eugenie was inconfinement. There came a moment when all pretexts failed to explainher perpetual absence. Then, though it was impossible to discover bywhom the secret had been betrayed, all the town became aware that eversince New Year's day Mademoiselle Grandet had been kept in her roomwithout fire, on bread and water, by her father's orders, and thatNanon cooked little dainties and took them to her secretly at night.It was even known that the young woman was not able to see or takecare of her mother, except at certain times when her father was out ofthe house.

Grandet's conduct was severely condemned. The whole town outlawed him,so to speak; they remembered his treachery, his hard-heartedness, andthey excommunicated him. When he passed along the streets, peoplepointed him out and muttered at him. When his daughter came down thewinding street, accompanied by Nanon, on her way to Mass or Vespers,the inhabitants ran to the windows and examined with intense curiositythe bearing of the rich heiress and her countenance, which bore theimpress of angelic gentleness and melancholy. Her imprisonment and thecondemnation of her father were as nothing to her. Had she not a mapof the world, the little bench, the garden, the angle of the wall? Didshe not taste upon her lips the honey that love's kisses left there?She was ignorant for a time that the town talked about her, just asGrandet himself was ignorant of it. Pious and pure in heart beforeGod, her conscience and her love helped her to suffer patiently thewrath and vengeance of her father.

One deep grief silenced all others. Her mother, that gentle, tendercreature, made beautiful by the light which shone from the inner tothe outer as she approached the tomb,--her mother was perishing fromday to day. Eugenie often reproached herself as the innocent cause ofthe slow, cruel malady that was wasting her away. This remorse, thoughher mother soothed it, bound her still closer to her love. Everymorning, as soon as her father left the house, she went to the bedsideof her mother, and there Nanon brought her breakfast. The poor girl,sad, and suffering through the sufferings of her mother, would turnher face to the old servant with a mute gesture, weeping, and yet notdaring to speak of her cousin. It was Madame Grandet who first foundcourage to say,--

"Where is /he/? Why does /he/ not write?"

"Let us think about him, mother, but not speak of him. You are ill--you, before all."

"All" meant "him."

"My child," said Madame Grandet, "I do not wish to live. God protectsme and enables me to look with joy to the end of my misery."

Every utterance of this woman was unfalteringly pious and Christian.Sometimes, during the first months of the year, when her husband cameto breakfast with her and tramped up and down the room, she would sayto him a few religious words, always spoken with angelic sweetness,yet with the firmness of a woman to whom approaching death lends acourage she had lacked in life.

"Monsieur, I thank you for the interest you take in my health," shewould answer when he made some commonplace inquiry; "but if you reallydesire to render my last moments less bitter and to ease my grief,take back your daughter: be a Christian, a husband, and a father."

When he heard these words, Grandet would sit down by the bed with theair of a man who sees the rain coming and quietly gets under theshelter of a gateway till it is over. When these touching, tender, andreligious supplications had all been made, he would say,--

"You are rather pale to-day, my poor wife."

Absolute forgetfulness of his daughter seemed graven on his stonybrow, on his closed lips. He was unmoved by the tears which floweddown the white cheeks of his unhappy wife as she listened to hismeaningless answers.

"May God pardon you," she said, "even as I pardon you! You will someday stand in need of mercy."

Since Madame Grandet's illness he had not dared to make use of histerrible "Ta, ta, ta, ta!" Yet, for all that, his despotic nature wasnot disarmed by this angel of gentleness, whose ugliness day by daydecreased, driven out by the ineffable expression of moral qualitieswhich shone upon her face. She was all soul. The spirit of prayerseemed to purify her and refine those homely features and make themluminous. Who has not seen the phenomenon of a like transfiguration onsacred faces where the habits of the soul have triumphed over theplainest features, giving them that spiritual illumination whose lightcomes from the purity and nobility of the inward thought? Thespectacle of this transformation wrought by the struggle whichconsumed the last shreds of the human life of this woman, did somewhataffect the old cooper, though feebly, for his nature was of iron; ifhis language ceased to be contemptuous, an imperturbable silence,which saved his dignity as master of the household, took its place andruled his conduct.